


like rum on the fire

by skatingsplits



Series: the dangerous edge of things [1]
Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: A little alteration to chapter fourteen, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Desk Sex, F/M, hi hello i am here to fix part two for our satanist power couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2020-01-13 13:39:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18470074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skatingsplits/pseuds/skatingsplits
Summary: Zelda's proclivity for at least pretending to commandeer control of every situation is one of the things Faustus thinks might make their marriage rather diverting. Constance had almost never failed to immediately acquiesce to his every wish and whim and as a result, the last sixty years of his life have been unutterably boring. Zelda Spellman is absolutely maddening but nobody could accuse her of being dull.





	like rum on the fire

**Author's Note:**

> It's my understanding that Chilling Adventures of Sabrina is a TV show that lasted exactly fourteen episodes and this is a missing scene from the fourteenth, "Lupercalia". Because apart from anything else, these power-hungry, horny idiots at least deserved to get their rocks off before everything went to shit.
> 
> Title from Hosier's "Cherry Wine" because I really am that basic.

 

One of the things he finds so endlessly entertaining about Zelda is that she's not nearly as subtle as she thinks she is. She might have stalked out of his office with her head held high and a confident swing to her hips, but the smile on her face had been far too wide to leave him in any doubt about what her answer would be. And it wasn't as if he'd _expected_ her to swoon into his arms and rapturously accept on the spot. On the contrary, Zelda's proclivity for at least pretending to commandeer control of every situation is one of the things Faustus thinks might make their marriage rather diverting. Constance had almost never failed to immediately acquiesce to his every wish and whim and as a result, the last sixty years of his life have been unutterably boring. Zelda Spellman is absolutely maddening but nobody could accuse her of being dull.

  
Nevertheless, Faustus is very confident that he's accurately predicted he next move on the intriguing little chessboard that is their relationship. He flatters himself that he knows Zelda well enough to be sure that even if she loathed him, she could never pass up what he's offering her. If there's a chink in that delightfully well-polished armour of hers, it's power.

  
He's proved right much sooner than he'd expected- it's barely noon the next day when Zelda parades back into his office without knocking.

  
‘Sister Zelda, what can I do for you?’ Making himself look far busier than he actually is, Faustus only glances up from his desk long enough to note that Zelda looks ravishing. She's always been devastatingly gorgeous but he particularly likes the turn she's taken towards these severe, chic little outfits in the last few decades. It's such a delicious torture, knowing exactly what's hiding underneath. Today's offering has a long row of tiny, delicate pearl buttons fastening up the front of her blouse and the vision of them scattering all over the floor as he rips it to get to the treat below has the potential to be incredibly distracting.

  
‘To begin with, I think you can drop the “sister”.’ Instead of taking her usual seat across from him, Zelda slinks over to perch on the edge of his desk, her right leg pressed tantalisingly close to his left. Her towering over him is infuriating and arousing in equal measures so he rises to his feet, unwilling to concede the high ground at such an early stage in the game.

  
‘And after considering your proposition from every angle... I would consider it my duty and my honour to accept.’ Faustus tries to tell himself that the smile threatening to spill onto his face stems solely from avoiding the humiliation of a rejection but he doesn't really have the presence of mind to tell himself anything at all. While Zelda's words are formal, her voice is anything but and as her hand slides up his chest, one of his traitorous muscles jumps beneath it. It's almost a relief that she's obviously trying to make him lose his composure, as he's doing a frankly dreadful job of holding onto it.

  
‘That required less contemplation than I had expected.’ Matching her low, purring tone is easy; it's more of an effort to stop himself from actually growling as his arms encircle her waist. It's not that he's possessive. It's simply that Zelda being his has been a long time coming and he has no intention of her leaving this office until she has his teeth marks on her throat to prove it.

  
‘Well, who am I to contravene the Dark Lord's will?’ She says it as though there's the slightest possibility she'd be sitting here letting his hands skate over the tempting swell of her tits if it wasn't entirely of her own volition. Faustus has long since learnt that he isn't the only one who's privately happy to pick and choose which of their master's commands he finds convenient to follow at any given moment. Truthfully, Zelda is twice as faithful as he is but even she seems to find a way to wriggle out of unholy doctrine that doesn't quite suit her. A classic Spellman trait but where it had made Faustus want to blast Edward into dust, he finds himself begrudgingly admiring it on Zelda.

  
‘And I must say, Lupercalia is my favourite holiday’ she continues ‘It would be such a shame to waste the opportunity for celebration. Especially after being so rudely interrupted the other night...’

  
Zelda trails off, giving him time to remember how close he'd been to getting his hands (or mouth, or cock; Faustus isn't choosy) on her pretty cunt again. It wouldn't be _entirely_ true to say that his yearning to get Zelda back in his bed was entirely responsible for the timing of his proposal but taking himself in hand that evening had been especially frustrating.

  
‘Oh, I quite agree. Who knows what bad luck it might mean for a marriage if it began with such a flagrant violation of tradition?’ Sliding his hands back down to her hips, Faustus takes great pleasure in the way Zelda hums when he squeezes the plump flesh beneath his fingers. Her own hands start playing with his tie and the movement is seductive, enrapturing. As always, she's pure, sensuous pleasure in human form and he's endlessly grateful for it.

  
‘Mmm. What a pity that it's not really the done thing for the headmaster to join in the hunt.’

  
‘Now, there I can't agree with you. I've already caught my prize, why even pretend to consider lesser offerings?’ suddenly, Zelda's fingers still. Just as suddenly, they're yanking at his tie, bringing his head jerking down so she can kiss him. It's gorgeously messy and one of her sharp little teeth punctures his bottom lip. Zelda has never failed to respond beautifully to flattery. He pushes her backwards onto the desk and can't restrain a smile when she instantly spreads her legs as wide as her indecently tight skirt will allow.

  
After making quick work of her jacket, his hands fumble with the first button of her blouse but it's too delicate for his excited fingers and, with more enthusiasm than entirely necessary, Faustus tears the stiff garment from her shoulders. He doesn't know what's better; Zelda's husky gasp against his mouth, or the sight of her half-naked in front of him when he pulls away.

She's a vision, quite frankly. Black silk envelopes beautiful tits, working to great effect against the alabaster of her skin. He's had enough spur-of-the-moment quickies with Zelda to know that, while she's always well turned-out, she doesn't always come to work wearing lingerie fit for a Parisian whore underneath her deceptively demure dresses. It's the idea of her selecting it so carefully, pouring over endless filmy scraps of lace and satin and silk as she deliberates which pretty little piece is most likely to get him hard and wanting. He almost resents it, the fact that she'd known he would have to have her. Faustus has always prided himself on being subject to no will but his own and, marriage notwithstanding, he has no intention of letting that change just because Zelda thinks she has him wrapped around her little finger.

  
If he knew what was good for him, he'd take a hold of himself, send her away flushed and unfulfilled and show her that she isn't half as clever as she thinks she is. But Faustus has always followed the Dark Lord's entreaty to do as thou wilt and what he really, really wants to do is standing right in front of him with her lips parted and her chest heaving.

  
‘Faustus.....’ she pleads, her nails running down his arm in a bid to spur him to do anything other than stand there staring at her. Committing to his own lust-driven idiocy, he bends to sink his teeth into her neck, grunting when Zelda sighs. She's always moaned so prettily.

  
‘Is _celebrating_ in the middle of the school day entirely seemly, your Excellency?’ The teasing, breathless edge to her voice is irresistible, even more so when she leans back to shimmy her skirt up around her hips. It should look nothing other than ridiculous- certainly, it shouldn't be so hypnotisingly pleasing that his cock twitches against the confines of his suit trousers and Faustus feels that flash of resentment again. In retaliation, he spreads her legs wider mercilessly quickly, the corners of his mouth turning up when she whines.

  
‘Are we precious about where we get fucked now, Zelda? That certainly makes a change’ His voice is smooth but the keening noise she makes when his fingers make contact with the soaking wet silk of her underwear is more than enough to have him groaning too.

  
‘Merely considering the practicalities of our propensity to be rather vocal with expressions of mutual appreciation’ she purrs and when his hand slides beneath her sodden excuse for underwear, Zelda's moan very much proves her own point.

  
‘Practicality be damned. Make as much noise as you like, darling.’ There's very little sentiment in the endearment he growls into her hair, even less in the way he roughly fucks his fingers into her. ‘I think everyone should hear how precious Professor Spellman begs me to bury my cock in her. Do you think they already know you're a slut? Or will it be a surprise for them to hear my prim and proper good girl moaning my name when she comes?’

  
‘Perhaps we'd find out if you weren't all talk and no action' to emphasise her last word, Zelda thrusts forward aggressively against his slow-moving fingers. If he wasn't so hard that it's becoming a huge effort not to grind against the desk, Faustus might have been tempted to draw his hand away and see how desperate she is to chase her pleasure. It's almost addictive, making her show him how greedy she is, how selfish. That's how he's always liked her.

  
‘And here I was under the impression that you like it when I talk, my darling’ he croons, two fingers pumping in and out of her gently, irregularly, so that she's wriggling quite deliciously in frustration. ‘But if it's action you require, I'm sure I can oblige my bride-to-be.’

  
While his unoccupied hand winds through her hair, Faustus pulls the other out of her eager cunt with a gratifyingly obscene noise and pushes his fingers into Zelda's willing mouth. Her clever tongue licks at them greedily and the petulant, displeased whine she gives when he pops them out again is gorgeously licentious.

  
‘So beautiful, Zelda' he murmurs, busily ridding her of the silky brassiere so he can better get his hands on her curves. Zelda had been stunning when she was young, a slender slip of a thing, but it's nothing compared to how viscerally attractive he finds her now. Her luscious tits are just the start; sometimes even glancing at the undulation of her widened hips beneath a boxy suit is enough for him to suddenly find himself hard. He pinches her pretty, rosy nipples, luxuriating in the feeling of plump flesh beneath his fingertips but even more in the way she shudders and sighs. Making Zelda want him is an unparalleled aphrodisiac- when her own fingers scrabble at his belt buckle and he can feel them trembling, it's difficult to not just thrust against her hand in a very undignified manner.

  
Finally pushing into her wet heat is utterly, supremely divine. In the grand scheme of things, it hasn't really been that long since he last had access to her glorious cunt, but it felt like eternity itself. She's so soaking wet that it's easy to bury himself in her up to the hilt; it's only when he does and her legs wind round his hips that Faustus realises she's still wearing those very proper little heels and she's digging them into his back hard enough to bruise. The pain makes his hips snap forward, which in turn makes Zelda practically squeal- a very uncharacteristic noise that he'd sell his soul to hear again. Her nails slide under his collar to claw at his shoulders but she makes no move to divest him of his shirt. Zelda likes having him fuck her like this, he knows, barely undressed at all. Knowing that she's made him lose control, that he won't delay a second more than necessary to have her. She's a vain little slut and when he groans words to that effect out loud, her answering moan is loud enough to shatter glass.

  
‘Everyone can hear you, my wanton, wicked girl’ his own voice is low, strained with exertion as he thrusts in and out of her so hard the solid oak desk is shaking. ‘You're doing it on purpose, aren't you, darling? You want everyone to know who you belong to.’

  
Zelda's response is mostly unintelligible but he's fairly certain there was a “please” in there somewhere.

  
‘What is it you want, precious?’ If he ever loves her, it's when she's like this; her fingernails making him bleed, her hair mussed and wild, eyes even wilder. When he brings his hand down to toy with her pretty, swollen clit and the sharp tips of her fingers rake over his neck like an untamed hellcat, he thinks he'd have given her anything, done anything for the promise of being able to fuck her for the rest of his life. ‘If you scream for me, Zelda, I'll let you come. So easy, sweetheart, all you have to do is say my name.’

  
She doesn't scream, not exactly, but the litany of absolute filth that spills from her lips when he starts circling her clit in earnest certainly fulfils his brief. Faustus is still pounding into her as her cunt clenches around him again and again, so hot and tight, and when he comes it's with a very undignified groan of something that sounds suspiciously like her own name. The press of his fingers into her left hip must be leaving indents to rival the ones her shoes have imprinted on his lower back but even when they've finally stilled, neither of them adjust their position.

  
The only sounds in the room for some time are two sets of heavy, laboured breathing and the meticulous tick of a clock. Eventually, Faustus releases his hold on Zelda's hip and uses that hand to grab her jaw instead, pushing her head back so he can see her face. They look at each other, both still practically panting, both seemingly unwilling to break away first.

  
Zelda does, eventually. Her legs drop from his hips and Faustus pulls back, re-adjusting himself back inside his trousers despite the mess he's in. She reaches down to the floor for her discarded jacket but he knows what she's going for instantly and beats her to it. Straightening back up, he places one of her beloved cigarettes into its holder and hands it to her in silence, leaning back in to light it with the ostentatious golden lighter he knows that Edward had given to her decades ago. Usually, the object rankles him; it's an unnecessarily irritating reminder of his ex-pupil's constant presence from beyond the grave. But today, as the momentary glow illuminates one of the pretty, purple bruises already forming on Zelda's chest, Faustus finds that the object doesn't bother him. He'll buy her a new one.

  
Sliding down from the desk, Zelda follows his gaze and tuts when she sees the discoloured skin.

  
‘Every single time, your Excellency?’ Her tone is lighter than he's heard it in recent memory and when she turns to the mirror to examine further, Faustus doesn't fail to notice the self-satisfied moue her mouth makes before she raises her hand to vanish it. Well, there's not a chance he's going to let her get away with that.

  
‘Don't you dare' he murmurs salaciously into her hair, pinning those busy hands to her side. ‘Think of it as an engagement present.’

  
‘How generous of you, Faustus.’ She's mocking him, obviously, but there's no further movement to get rid of the bruise. He feels a flush of heat at the idea of her spending the rest of the day with a crumpled skirt and an unmistakable hickey on her neck. Zelda, branded and marked for him, with something far more suitable than a wedding ring.

 

 


End file.
